


/pink, it's my new obsession

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bondage, DFAB reader, Dubious Consent, Gen, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, POV Second Person, Pegging, Punching, Rimming, but not really, dom reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-14 14:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Literally just pegging the best boy from Res Dogs.





	/pink, it's my new obsession

**Author's Note:**

> idk why i love writing /reader fanfiction even though i dont rly like self-shipping. i think i just really like writing in second-person.
> 
> Title is taken from "Pink" by Aerosmith.

This rat bastard had robbed you, he had. You saw the frizz of his dirty-blonde hair on the security camera of your store. You repair jewelry for a living, and it pays relatively well. This fucker had come around the back with a few friends of his and crammed it all in his pockets. You'd missed whoever he was with, you didn't care much about them, because this guy was a real prick. You could see him shoving people aside on the way out, pregnant women and old men and children.

Why you didn't report him to the police was a mystery, even now that you'd seen him a mere three days later, buying lactose-free milk of all things. You'd whispered in his ear, called him out right there as softly as could be, and he got this look on his face all wide-eyed and pale. And the two of you cut a neat little deal, and you walked him to the little apartment you live in. And the moment he dropped his guard, even for half a second, you tied one of his arms down to a dining chair. The other, you attached using a cast-aside pair of BDSM handcuffs, making sure to adjust the chain so it was short-short-short. 

Now he was looking at you with contempt, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

"What're these cuffs for, you into that shit?" He tugged at them a bit, experimentally. 

"What's your name?" You asked him, and he crinkled his nose.

"Mr. Pink, who's askin'?"

"That can't be your real name."

"Yeah, well I'm not tellin' you my real name, you'll haul my ass to the cops. I'm not an idiot." At the very least, you appreciated his honesty. "The fact that you know what I look like is already kind of a problem. Unfortunately, I'm not armed because I was out fucking buying milk." You snorted a bit, cracking your knuckles.

"Alright, well, I'm incredibly pissed, so I'm gonna take it out on you and then you can go home. Nobody fucks with my salary." Mr. Pink rolled his eyes, but didn't seem to have any overt complaints for about half a second before speaking again.

"Take it out on me how?"

"By beating the shit out of you, how else?" Surprisingly, Mr. Pink snickered and nodded, kicking one leg over the other.

"Alright then." He reclined in the chair, as much as he could, looking all-too-comfortable. "If that's your prerogative, then go for it. Better than goin' to prison. Besides, you don't look like you can do much to me." You ignored him for the moment, getting the knuckle-wraps you used for boxing and wrapping those fists to avoid broken fingers. He was watching you, still talking. "This is some official shit, goddamn, Rocky Balboa over here."

You swung around and struck him hard in the cheek. He made a weird noise, shaking his head back and forth. "You gotta warn me, dammit, I bit my fuckin' tongue! That could'a come off, I could'a died, and then you'd have a real crime on your hands there, buddy."

"Are you ready  _now?"_

"Yeah, sure." Mr. Pink stuck his chin out, eyes closed. You drew back, punching him in the chest, and he wheezed with one eye twitching. "Ooh, shit!" He coughed, but you had no intention of resting, instead getting him in the stomach. It knocked all the wind right out of Mr. Pink, who gasped for air, thankfully not vomiting on your white carpet. Another loud, heavy cough, like he was carrying some ghastly disease.

"Done talking?" 

"Maybe. I don't think that's any of your business." You rolled your eyes and struck him in the eye. He hissed a little, and in the next moment you socked him in the nose. It made a satisfying crack and fell down under the weight of your hand. Mr. Pink made these god-awful spitting noises as you ground his nose-bridge to a pulp, blood gushing out of his nostrils and bruises being birthed in the corners of his blue-grey eyes. All yellow, brown, blue and purple, spreading like a watercolor painting. He gave you this challenging look, the bastard even smiled at you. Your fist flew up through his jaw, and he grunted between forced-shut teeth. He spat one, two, three teeth into his lap. 

"You done smiling at me?" This guy was really getting to you. He grinned again, a missing-tooth grin with blood leaking from it.

"Pussy!" He shouted at you, and you gave him a right hook across the face. It hit his lip, causing it to swell out all round and perfect. Mr. Pink shook his head, all covered in sweat and blood. "You think I haven't taken this shit before? You punch like my momma, and she's--" A left hook on the other end shut his mouth. "--my tongue! Ow, fuck! Don't do that while I'm talkin'!"

"Then stop talkin'." His jaw swelled yellow-green, and he gritted his teeth. His lips were bloody and he shook his head a little bit. You grabbed his shoulders and drove a knee into his gut, and he made a sort of goopy choking noise. Acid reflux, he swallowed back a mouthful of his own vomit. You then pressed a thumb to his shattered nose, and that one really made him howl, open mouth and all, so you could see the red river on his tongue. He spat blood onto your face. "Ew."

"Pu..." He coughed. "Pussy..." You sighed, checking your wraps, which were now covered in red-brown stains. And as your gaze was down, you saw that Mr. Pink was at full fucking mast.

"Do you have a boner?" His head was hanging down and he was catching his breath. "Hey. Mr. Pink. You've got a--"

"Yeah, I know." He lifted his face, which was sweat-slick with hair mussed over it, painted as a work of Edvard Munch. "You never get off on a good fight? There must be something wrong with you, then, 'cause fighting's all we got in this rotten world, right?"

"Don't get all philosophical on me when you're hard and tied to a chair." You got down on your haunches and unzipped his dumb, knee-length shorts, undoing his belt and lowering the band of his underpants. It was an alright one, for sure. Uncut, trimmed, and average size. "So, what, you're like, a masochist?" Mr. Pink shuddered as you breathed over his shaft.

"I don't like labels. Can't a man just fuckin' enjoy something without it being this or that?"

"It sure as hell ain't normal. Lift that ass." He quirked a brow, but rose himself up with his feet, so you could get those shorts down around his ankles, tugging them over his sneakers and casting them aside. 

"You gonna fuck me now? While I'm vulnerable? For shame." He tutted, sarcastically of course. You ignored him, pressing his knees to his ears. His asshole was normal, average, what-have-you. Nothing worth sniffing over, really. Then again, it's rare to see an above-average asshole, isn't it? You stick a pinkie in your mouth before wrenching it into his hole, and he made a little squeak, toes curling into the balls of his feet. "You into my ass, you sick freak?"

"You're the sick freak here, getting off to  _this-"_ And you jabbed into his stomach, he rasped and his cock visibly jumped, spitting pre like it were weeping. "-seems way more sick to me." Saliva rolled from his parted lips, and he stared at you, whorish and needy. "You're built like you've done this before."

"Cut the shit, of co- course I haven't." He wrinkled his brow, like he still had any level of control over the situation. Your finger curved and contorted against warm, wet walls of flesh and muscle, making good old Mr. Pink twitch and convulse and hiss through gritted, red-stained teeth. He tried his damn hardest to rub up into your finger, his ass rubbing against your palm. You inserted a second finger, a real one, this time. He went "ooh" and tossed his head back. Your eyes were alive with wonder, as if you were a child who just got a new toy on Christmas. "Shit, keep doin' that right there..."

"Huh?" You experimentally wriggled your digits around.

"There! Up, you idiot!"

"Up here?" A brush against a particular spot made Mr. Pink scream and groan, so loud you worried the neighbors might hear. You rubbed against it with both fingers. Bastard sounded like he was being electrocuted, spitting and grunting and howling with his tongue all out on his lip. Then you pulled them out as soon as there was a tightening in his sack, and he whined, all disappointed. He gave you this false sad expression, partially in jest.

"You're really doin' this to me? I'm an alright guy." His humor sounded far less energetic now that you'd worn him down a little, at least. "Torturin' me like I'm a prisoner of war or somethin'."

"You did rob me." He rubbed his fingers together in response.

"A tiny violin, all for you." You grabbed his foot, driving his knee into his own nose in a convoluted-yet-clearly-painful motion. He spat and shook his head a little. "I ain't never gonna be able to smell again, goddamnit!" You stared at him, burying your nose into his ass. He looked confused until you ran your tongue along its pucker. A full-body tremble was the only response he gave, which was your cue to dig your tongue in it.

Taste wasn't too bad, actually. He attempted to lock his legs around your head, but you gave his thigh an experimental pinch, prompting him to return those legs to the upright position. It was kind of hard to see his face from down there, the way his lips curled inward and eyes squeezed shut. But you could feel in your mouth the way he tightened and twitched down below, every inch of him alive as a whole other human being. He was all sweaty and warm, and dare you say,  _pink_. "Oh fuck yeah... Feels good..." He was noisy. Maybe on purpose. Liked to push your buttons, he did. Perhaps he thought you'd be harder on him that way? He was gently pressing himself against your face, his taint all up your nose and what have you.

He was kind of flat in the back, but enough for you to dig your fingers into. When your nails made contact he fucking squealed, like a goddamn pig. Sweat stuck to him and blood mixed with it, a watery mess like he got caught in a rainstorm. And suddenly he fucking pounded his ass against your nose and blew his wad all over that dumbass shirt he was wearing. You pulled your mouth away just to see it, like a white hot fountain.

"Are you this easy when you normally fuck?" It was like Mr. Pink didn't even hear you, too busy making rambling babbling shouts and kicking his feet all over the place. Dipshit nearly even hit you with one, goddamnit. When he ended his elongated orgasm he was panting and twitching while his dick spat the last droplets of semen on itself. You couldn't do much but stare. "Shit, I've never made a man cum that hard before in my life." You pinched his cheek a little, and he responded accordingly with an annoyed look. "You still got some left in you, or am I gonna have to let the baby nap a little while so I can kick him out?"

"Hey, you think I'm down after one? Girls don't call me a fuck machine for nothin'."

"Sure they do. Gonna need you to keep those legs up." He nodded, staring at the ceiling. You, meanwhile, dove into your top-left drawer on your wardrobe, which was where the sex stuff was kept. Lube and condoms and shit, the whole nine yards. And of course, god's gift to mankind, the strap-on dildo. What would we ever do without it? It was purple, stood at a solid seven inches of silicone, and had a ribbed end for your own business. It was held inside of a leather harness with a metal ring. Removing your shorts and undies, you could absolutely feel Mr. Pink getting an eyeful like the sick weirdo he was. "Quit staring at me."

"I'll stare if I want! Don't like it, stick it up your ass." 

"I can stick it up yours."

And when you turned, he got a face full of purple silicon, pressed into his cheek, and it demanded entry. That sly bastard licked his lips and swallowed it down halfway without a single qualm or complaint. He'd probably be far less excited if it was real, but that was fine. You grabbed a fistful of his dusty-colored hair and pressed your crotch forward, watching his eyes bug out as he tried to keep up with you. A gagging sound followed.

You paused a moment to squeeze a dollop of lube into one hand, reaching down and slipping two gooey fingers back into him. He groaned and coughed around your false shaft, eyes fluttering. Beautiful little butterfly lashes and lids. He had the most lovely blue eyes. You gave one hard jut into the back of his throat before pulling out.

"Horny-ass." He grumbled, as if he didn't have an erection at that very moment. He quietly wiped his cheek on his shoulder. A little bit of saliva and a lot of sweat. You grabbed at his ass, positioning yourself before dipping the purple rubber cock-head into his well-oiled hole. The most microscopic of hisses came from his teeth, yourself burying in him inch by inch, he looked blissful as a whore on ecstasy. "You're gonna fucking snap me in half." His voice was a breathy whisper. You knew he was playing it up a little, and you liked it.

Buried to the hilt, with his dumb shirt rolled up a bit, you could almost see it stick out a little under his skin. He really was just a delightfully small, skinny person. 

"I haven't done this a lot, so you'd better not complain too much." You reeled back and then shoved in. Mr. Pink yowled and gripped the armrests of the chair, hooking his knees over your shoulders. His mouth loosely hung open and he looked dirty, absolutely filthy, and his voice lilted whenever you bumped his prostate. You grabbed one of his shoulders and punched him hard in the face, something else shattering in there. He moaned, fucking  _moaned_ when you hit him. A tooth fell from him. Like he was a gumball machine with only teeth and no gum. Your balled fist accidentally met his throat, he hacked and sputtered and spat all over himself, dripping on his lower half.

"You asshole! Ack!" He spat a little blood onto his shirt, which was covered in stains on stains on stains. Blood was covering his face, blood and bruises, a purple and red menagerie of beauty. "My fuckin' tooth... shit..." Another one came out. This one a little bit bigger, and just as pearly-white. You didn't stop a moment, you abused his rotten body raw, all spread open for your pleasure. Every gripe on his end was wholly performative. He was a bad, bad actor.

If only you could feel him, well and proper, aside from the rubbing against your clit and vaginal lips provided by a high-quality sex object. If only your cock were flesh so you could feel the way his muscles tightened and convulsed. He was twitching, shaking, warm, fucking on fire. And you were still jabbing him in the stomach, not very hard because you were preoccupied with other things. (Ahem.) And on God, Mr. Pink was living up to his name because his skin was rose-colored when it wasn't bruising something fierce. When did your faces get so close together, anyway? But you kissed him. Maybe he kissed you. Someone's got to take responsibility for it. But whoever was the cause, it tasted like iron, and he at the very least knew how to give a good tongue-kiss. You wedged your tongue in one of the red-wet holes of his gums. As soon as you did that it seemed like every muscle within him went rigid, and he shot his seed onto the corner of your shirt. When you separated, lines of pale red saliva connected the two of you for half a second.

"I'm not gonna stop 'till I've fucked you unconscious." You told him, and expected a snarky comeback, but clearly he didn't have it in him anymore.

"Go ahead..." You quickly undid one of his cuffs and slid in underneath him. Somehow he felt just the perfect size for your lap, and he grabbed onto your shoulder. Desperate. Needy. Grabbing his sides, you fucked into him like he was a three-dollar toy. The stimulation on your end was upped now that your body proximity was closer, and you dug teeth into his neck. Mr. Pink sounded like a woman, he sounded like a Ms. Pink for all it was worth. He came again, and this one was smaller. "Shit, shit, shit, this is-"

"You tappin' out?" You breathed into his ear, and he shook his head. His ass was probably raw-fucking-red right now, and he was making noises of god-knows-what. You'd definitely be getting some neighbor complaints later on. Shockwaves went through from your clit to your brain, all of those nerve endings speaking at once. Was it a choir of angels you were hearing, or was it  _K-Billy's Sounds of the Seventies_? He was leaving ruby-red marks on your shoulders from the fluid he dripped, a leaky faucet of scarlet. It was so warm. Everything was so alive at once, and before you knew it you came. You blinked.

He was unconscious.

Ah damn. You pulled out, and despite lubing yourself to the nines, there was still little red flecks stuck to your strap. You snapped your fingers at him. Nothing. Mr. Pink was out fucking cold. An odd sense of pride washed over you as you reached into the pocket of his pants. He was only carrying twenty bucks in cash, but that was fine. There was no way he'd call the cops for it.

You rolled into bed and took a nap yourself, because that shit was exhausting. By the time you woke he was gone.


End file.
